A Life's Moment
by NZgnomegirl
Summary: All can be changed in a moment, for some its for the better, that is not so for the rest. We can be transformed into what we love, someone we loath, or in the end we can simply be set free. WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH.


_**Disclaimer: All characters, concepts and fictional content of this work belongs to the author of the Harry Potter world, J.. All writings and work created using the above are meant for non-profitable entertainment purposes only. However, copying/pirating of this work to pass it as your own is inexcusable; please contact this author if you wish to post this work elsewhere on the internet.**_

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**A Life's Moment**

_All can be changed in a moment, for some its for the better, that is not so for the rest. We can be transformed into what we love, someone we loath, or in the end we can simply be set free._

Brown eyes starred back at her - her eyes. Eyes that betrayed her broken soul.

She looked down at her hands, bitten fingernails on the ends of fingers stained with ink. Her palms dry from the parchment she used.

Her gaze shifted back to her reflection. Studying the lines on her face, each line told a story, some were of happier times filled with laughter, but most from moments of fear, worry, sadness, despair and the ones above her nose, on her brow, from extreme anger and if at all possible regret.

She noted the twin scars from fingernails on her right cheek - no longer red, now faded white scars. Her fingers ghosted over her cheek gently over both scars.

She closed her eyes as her hand, fingers leaving a trail, continued down her neck causing her to shiver ever so slightly, down across her chest, ever so gently across her breast. Lost in a moment of remberance of the last time she felt - well just felt.

Her fingers spread further apart as she gently traced the ugly scar on her stomach, a knife wound from a time so long ago. She remembered once more the pain and sighed.

She opened her eyes to focus once more on her reflection.

Her hair still bushy, longer, still untameable, was fighting to be free of the bun that she painstakingly had forced it into this and every over morning for more years than she cared to admit.

Her left hand slowly reached up slowly and pulled out the last remaining hairpins. She watched as her hair sprung free, shaking her head carefully. Closing her eyes once more she felt her hair gently brush across her bare back.

She inhaled deeply, the sweet aroma of lavender and fresh roses was all she could smell.

Upon opening her eyes, she remembered she was not alone.

As a deep voice groaned behind her, out of sight of the reflection in the mirror.

She looked at the dresser in the front of her. She opened the top left drawer.

She reached into the back past all the silk fabric, until the tips of her fingers brushed on harsh linen.

She hesitated for a mere second, then she grasped the linen and removed it from its hiding place, careful not to drop the secret within.

She placed it on top of the dresser, and took a moment to gaze at something long hidden.

She slowly unwrapped it.

Cold, reflective, hollow just like the mirror, just like her.

She placed it to one side.

Picking up the once white – now faded cream linen – a nightdress of simple design, so innocent – no longer.

Turning it around she noted the faded blood stains on it.

Sighing once more she lifted it up over her head, allowing the rough fabric to touch her skin as she pulled it on.

She looked once more upon her reflection in the mirror, sadness first gripped her, a complete utter depressing sadness that gave way to anger and frustration with herself – the regret.

Her hand had found her cold hard secret.

She picked it up.

She met the gaze of the brown eyes in the mirror staring empty and void of the sparkle they once held.

That deep voice groaned once more.

She continued to study her eyes – cold – broken.

Suddenly she saw movement in the reflection.

Tightening her grip, she sighed one last time.

Just as the strong feeling of extreme anger gripped her.

She spun around to face a large four poster bed, on it lay the owner of that deep voice.

Letting out a primal scream of fury, she felt her heart race high in her chest.

In what seemed like a lifetimes moment she took a step, then two, then jumped up on the bed.

Below her lay a figure, a man now beginning to stir.

He had what looked like a broken jaw and the beginnings of a black eye.

His eyes suddenly opened, she saw thos same familiar cold steel – no! Silver eyes, she could feel his gaze cut through her.

How ironic.

He opened his mouth and whispered something.

She couldn't hear as the steady beat of her heart was controlling and blocking out everything around her.

Then she saw it.

Fear – _His _fear in his eyes.

Accompanying that fear was the reflection of the secret – her secret – his too, drawing closer to him.

Then she saw or thought she saw realisation – just a flicker – then his stare was hard.

She lifted her hand once more just to let go but couldn't.

Her secret plunged back through his chest.

She stopped.

Lifting her hands, her blood covered hands. She tried but failed to wipe away the blood.

She relaised she was crouched too closely to him – or what was left of him.

Suddenly feeling dirty – oh so dirty she jumped off the bed and darted back to the dresser to look in the mirrior once more.

All she could see was blood. Scarlet red blood on her hands and on the nightdress, adding to the faded blood stains.

She couldn't breath, she felt suffocated, claustrophobic as she felt the heaviness of what she had done set in.

She looked around for something to clean herself with.

Nothing.

She remembered the pool she had passed below earlier.

Yes, that would do.

She turned to face the bed, regret beginning to take hold.

She moved quickly to the balcony through the open door at one end of the room.

She looked up into the night sky. Full moone tonight, a witness to what she had done.

She wandered slowly to the balcony's edge, to look at the pool below.

The moon's reflection upon the water. Yet she couldn't see clearly.

Climbling up on the cold concrete railing, cursing under her breath as she grazed her knee and knocked her elbow on the corner post.

She stood there.

She breathed deeply, drinking in the night air.

Despite the regret and the constant feeling of being unclean she felt for the first time – free.

Free enough to reach out and touch the stars, caress the moon in all her beauty.

Alas she saw her hands covered in blood – his blood.

She closed her eyes to only see the look of fear and then the hollow emptiness.

Her eyes snapped open.

_No!_

She had become the monster – the one she had feared all this time.

She tried to breath – starting to hyperventilate.

She needed to leave.

She quickly made to get down, only to have the night gown snag on the corner post.

She gave it one strong tug to free herself, just to lose her balance and tumbled forward over the edge of the balcony.

Another lifetime passed as she fell.

Her hair flew around her – completely free at last.

She closed her eyes to feel the wind caress her body gently.

Opening them in time to see her reflection once more. Free of burdens, free of reget, free of anger – just free.

Then she felt it – the last sensation as her body collided with the still water.

A split moment thought –_ so this is what it is like to die..._

Then everything was still.

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A newspaper lay on the table, coffee spilt over the front page. Toast half eaten sat on a plate beside an upturned mug.

The coffee slowly soared the page. Much to the despair of the occupants of the two photos on the page.

The headline read:

_Well known former Death Eater found dead._

The article went on to tell a sad story of a wife finding her husband dead in their marital bed.

It told of all the good the man had done in previous years since being released from Azkaban.

How he had mended relations with his family, then with the wizarding community.

The story then finished to say Aurors were not searching for those responsible as they found the culprit floating face down in the pool. Aurors believed they had commited suicided. At this

stage not much had been released to what caused this murder, but Aurors wre busy searching the home of one Hermione Granger.


End file.
